


flight

by icygrace



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3821962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The king and his deputy once prepared for the possibility of smuggling the queen out of the country should the king have been exposed as a regicide. What happens when the queen is accused of adultery? What consequences does this have for the deputy and his wife?</p>
            </blockquote>





	flight

**Author's Note:**

> Jumps between Mary’s point of view and Bash’s and starts in the middle of the story, if you will. Not entirely sure where this one came from, but it's been brewing for a while and I was finally able to tie it up.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, but . . .”

 

“Are my lord and lady of Mar . . . indisposed?” Mary asks. The slight amusement that creeps into her own words is almost comforting.

 

“If you’re looking for His Lordship, you wouldn’t find him here.” The maid flushes. “I – er – I mean – It’s just my lady that’s in and she _is_ indisposed.”

 

“Well, let her know I came by and that I would like to see her when she is well.”

 

\---

 

 _If you’re looking for His Lordship,_ _you wouldn’t find him here._

 

As two of her highest-ranking courtiers, they have spacious rooms with separate bedchambers, but, if Mary had stopped to think about it, she would have assumed that one of the two chambers would go unused, save perhaps as storage space for her friend’s things.

 

Not that Kenna had brought much back with her to Scotland. Though he’s never been known for his materialism (he’s not forgotten what it was like to rely entirely on Henry’s good graces), Bash had sunk far more gold than he’d ever willingly admit to spending to replace everything that had been lost and had sent away for whatever Kenna had left behind at Livingston House before joining Mary in France.

 

Yet Kenna seems to care very little for her appearance now – the same Kenna who could spend an age pondering nearly identical shades of lip rouge and even longer testing fabrics for appearance and feel when having a new dress made, who took longer to dress her hair than her queen. Whatever efforts are made by her maid are made with her acquiescence rather than at her instigation.

 

It isn’t that she looks unattractive. She is still one of the loveliest women at Mary’s court, if too slender for the current taste. Worryingly so, Mary must admit. But mostly it’s that Kenna doesn’t . . . sparkle anymore.

 

And that – Mary fears that is her fault above all others.

 

\---

 

Francis has Louis beheaded for the treasonous offense of seducing the queen after their liaison becomes public knowledge. The same husband who purported to fear for her safety should rumors of such an affair spread.

 

_Doubts like these start wars. They put your country at risk, as well as your life._

_My life. And not yours._

 

 _I know. It is unfair. My mother was almost beheaded for infidelity, while my father had every woman that he wanted. But that is the way that it is, right or wrong. I remind you of this because I care for you._  
  
Although she’d only turned to Bash to save Francis’s life, Bash proves himself as faithful a friend to her as he once was a fiancé, risking life and limb to help her in her darkest, most desperate hour, when allying himself with her could only endanger him. He smuggles her out of the dungeons and spirits her across the sea to Scotland, where she is safe. But he does not trouble himself with his wife.

 

\---

 

Mary flushes with shame even now to think of it, how long it took her to ask after Kenna.

 

It did not occur to Mary to question her friend’s absence until they’d arrived at Linlithgow – chosen because anyone chasing after her would first look for her at Holyrood, presuming she’d seek Marie de Guise’s protection. And that only after the servants had pulled her, chattering, into a hot bath, helped her dress, led her to the fire, and placed a hot drink in her hands so she might warm herself. “When will Kenna be joining us?”

 

“She won’t,” Bash says shortly before taking a too-long pull of mulled wine.

 

Mary does not understand and she is suddenly seized by fear. Aylee is dead, Greer alive but lost to her forever, Lola left behind with her son ( _Francis’s son_ ), and now Kenna is . . . what, exactly?

 

“She remains at court. I wish Antoine joy of her,” Bash continues bitterly, raising his goblet in a mocking salute to his absent wife and her alleged lover.

 

Mary has never believed the rumors. She _knows_ Kenna. She is considering which of her half-formed questions to ask when Bash rises and nods to her with a murmured “Your Majesty” before departing her company.

 

\---

 

“You do see the irony in forsaking your wife because you believe she betrayed you when you’ve just rescued your brother’s wife, who faced certain death for the same reason, don’t you?”

 

“Apparently the brothers Bourbon hold quite the attraction for Scotswomen.”

 

Mary knows she owes Bash her life, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t appalled by his lack of faith in the wife who loves him so well.

 

“And Francis didn’t _believe_ you betrayed him. You _did_ and he knew it.”

 

She assumed Bash incorrectly believed otherwise and had, half-ashamedly, not corrected the mistake, valuing her own life too much to do so. “Then why did you save me and leave your wife behind?”

 

“He would’ve risked starting a war by executing you. Yet he would look dangerously weak if he pardoned you. This was the only way.” Bash is not wrong.

 

“He asked you to do this?”

Bash does not answer.

 

\---

 

And then they receive word that Francis is dying.

 

She spent so much of her life with him dreading his death and yet now, after all that has happened, she does not know what to feel, other than fear for those left behind.  

 

Although there may be a price on his head, Bash returns to France and to Francis.

 

Not long after, she receives word that Francis is dead and France is in chaos. She wonders if Bash made it in time to say goodbye and whether he will return.

 

\---

 

“Even if I had my nephew, I’d never hand him over to you.”

 

“Lady Lola trusts me with him and she is his mother.”

 

“But you are not his father and _his father_ – my brother and our king – entrusted me with his care. And Lola must be terrified. God knows what nonsense you’ve filled her mind with.”

 

Lola is an intelligent woman, but she is also a mother who’s been separated from her child during a most dangerous time.

 

Narcisse scoffs. “The princes are gone, as are Catherine and Claude, God knows where. All who remain are you and the boy and he has a better claim than you if it came down to that.”

 

“If my brothers were not found and the crown were to be my nephew’s, I would not seize it from him.”

 

“You tried to seize it from his father.”

 

“I cannot _begin_ to explain that now, but I did not do it willingly. I did it at –”

 

“But that is not the point! What have you done with the boy?”

 

“I have sent him to safety.”

 

“Safety? More likely to his death.”

 

“He is to be in his stepmother’s care. She will keep him until he can be safely reunited with his mother. Far away from you.”

 

Narcisse gives him a look that chills him to the core. “Tell me, my lord deputy, if you were made to choose, would it be your nephew or your wife?”

 

He blurts out the truth without asking himself why Narcisse is asking. Despite all that has passed between them, despite all the anger he still carries in his heart, it is instinct, pure and simple. “My wife.”

 

“What of your promise to Francis?” He knows the truth and Narcisse knows it, too, from the inexplicably triumphant look on his face. Does the man rejoice over the fact that he is not the most treacherous courtier left standing?

 

It’s true that he made promises to his brother. He promised to defend those Francis loved with his life if need be and he would, he would give his own life for theirs, but he never promised to put their lives over Kenna’s. He did vow to her that he would always protect her, always defend her and . . . Well, his brother is dead and Kenna is very much alive. But he cannot bring himself to say any of it out loud and, even if he could, he owes Narcisse nothing, least of all his innermost thoughts. “It matters not. I have neither of them in my custody, but both of them are safe.”

 

“But it does, my lord. When my men could not find the boy, they captured Lady Kenna instead. She is even now in my power.”

 

_I am so sorry, brother._

 

\---

 

Kenna has always been slender. Now, after her time in captivity, she is thinner than ever and paler than he would like, something troubling in her eyes. 

 

But she is alive and nothing else matters.

 

Not even the nephew whose death warrant Mary has, at his instigation, surely signed in a devil’s bargain. They have not learned the precise details, but at some point, Kenna was handed into Antoine’s power, who was then persuaded by Claude – Claude! – to release her to Mary.

 

With Lola under Narcisse's thumb (damn the man), Claude would ensure their nephew’s safety and, when she had a daughter, the boy would be married to his cousin. If Claude had no daughters, another suitable match would be arranged.  

 

With Charles and little Henry dead, Antoine ascended the French throne. Catherine used her Medici money to entice him into a match with the last legitimate Valois (Elizabeth had perished in childbed by then), his marriage to Claude cementing a new alliance between their houses.

 

 _I lied to him,_ Claude writes in a coded message sent via one of Catherine’s Flying Squad. _I told him you had nothing to do with this, that this is all for Mary, that I have it on good authority that Mary banished you from her court because she blames you for her lady’s capture and does not wish you to see her when she is returned._

_Else he would not have consented to the exchange. He still hates you for his brother’s death. But he believes his revenge now complete. Although he missed out on the opportunity of having her and never won her heart, I believe that it is, perversely, almost more satisfying for him to imagine you crushed under your despair, believing your wife betrayed you, and Kenna despising you for believing it._

 

He reads those words of his sister’s over and over again and feels a wave of remorse. _Although he missed out on the opportunity of having her and never won her heart, I believe that it is, perversely, almost more satisfying for him to imagine you crushed under your despair, believing your wife betrayed you, and Kenna despising you for believing it._ All this time, he has cursed himself for caring for her despite her betrayal and yet Claude seems so certain it never occurred – Claude, who needled and resented Kenna and never lost an opportunity to spite her, believes her to be blameless.  

_Do take care, brother – with yourself and with your wife. Be kind. She will need it._

 

\---

 

At first, Mary thinks Kenna’s tentativeness merely the product of time and of (perfectly natural) feelings of betrayal. She was left behind and later faced great danger because of it.

 

And there are the inaccurate rumors of what went on behind closed doors between Mary and the man she considers her most trusted advisor.

 

Despite his resentment of the way she treated his brother, she truly believes Bash will never lie to her, that he will only advise her to do what he believes is best.

 

(And yet, he is only a man. He is the only person who advises her against the match with Darnley, advice she understandingly waves away as loyalty to the late brother he loved so well. She cannot fault him for it. Even besotted as she is, she finds that her own thoughts often turn to Francis as her second wedding nears.

 

Later, she faults the rest of her Privy Council – but that is only later.)

 

\---

 

Unlike Mary and her own elder brother, Kenna and her brother Andrew are full siblings and grew up close together as children. Although Kenna did not much like to talk about her family because it made her miss them, she always spoke fondly of her brother when she did make mention of him.

 

Her brother’s impending arrival at court is the only thing Kenna has shown any strong feeling about since she returned to Scotland. It is the first time Mary sees reason to hope that somewhere inside this solemn woman is the spirited girl she once knew.

 

After Lord Tarras formally presents himself to his liege and queen, he wraps his sister – so pale, so stiff, so unlike herself, the now-rare joy rapidly draining from her face – in an enthusiastic embrace.

 

Kenna extricates herself at once, chest rising and falling rapidly as though she is having difficulty breathing.

 

And that – that is the moment when Mary _sees_.

 

\---

 

It was the passion between them that brought them together, even when they had nothing else, but Bash cannot imagine how he could possibly reignite that spark when his wife holds herself apart from him in every way. He settles for watching her and trying to guess what she’s thinking and feeling, hoping that he will puzzle it out soon.

 

But days become weeks and weeks become months that turn into a year. Kenna’s heart is really far more complicated than she once thought and her mind even more.

 

And then, one day, he sees it. He sees the way Kenna looks at Mary’s infant son, the way baby James brings out a rare softness in her eyes, and recognizes his opportunity. “Don’t you want children?”

 

She wanted children once. He knows she did.

 

He hadn’t.

 

Just barely, so slightly he would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching her, she flinches. The pause between that flinch and her reply is eternal. “I can’t.”

 

“You – how do you know–”

 

“No – I don’t. What I mean . . . it’s just that I . . . I really couldn’t bear for you to touch me.”

_Of course._ Now it’s he who flinches away from the stark reality of her words. “I see.” He also sees how her eyes fill before she looks away and wishes he could close his own eyes at the sight. Instead, he clears his throat. “Well, then, there’s nothing more to say on the subject, is there?”

 

Once, he had no faith in her. He believed she had betrayed him and that imagined betrayal had broken his heart. But the truth is that broken heart never really stopped beating for her.

 

The problem now is that _she_ no longer has any faith in _him_. He left her behind, he did it out of spite for wrongs she did not actually commit, and she will never forgive him for it.

 

\---

 

He’s restless that night and walks half the castle attempting to tire himself to sleep. It’s so late that no one but the guards should be up – least of all the servants who start their work before dawn so the nobles have fires stoked and food to eat and clean clothes to wear – so he’s surprised to see Kenna’s maid up and about. Perhaps off to a tryst?

 

“My lord!” She’s very jumpy. “It’s awfully late.”

 

“It is,” he replies casually. “I couldn’t sleep. What’s your excuse?”

 

She hesitates.

 

“Yes?”

 

“My lady can’t sleep either.” There’s an unspoken accusation in her eyes. _You’d know that if you shared her bed_. They have not since before he first left France.

 

“But you are probably tired.” He does not know what compels him to do it – he has avoided his wife after coming to the depressing realization that she will never forgive him – but he gestures toward the cup and saucer in the maid’s hand. “I can take that to –”

 

“No!” She looks startled at herself.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Beg your pardon, my lord, but it’s my duty to care for my lady.”

 

“It is a husband’s duty to care for his wife,” he retorts.

 

She’s too flustered to shoot him another accusing look. “Please, my lord, it’s best if I –”

 

Really, he’s had enough. He does not know why he is so irrationally angry with this mouse of a maid who has proven to be surprisingly single-minded, but he is. “Enough! Give me one good reason why you have any right to tell me not to bring some damn tea to my wife.”

 

“She has nightmares,” the maid blurts out. “She –” She falls silent.

 

“Shouldn’t I comfort her if she is frightened?”

 

“Please don’t,” the maid pleads.

 

“Why not?”

 

“The guards have come, sometimes, because she screams and they fear something is the matter, that she’s been hurt, but –” The maid swallows abruptly.

 

“Yes?” he prods, more impatiently.

 

“But it makes the after so much worse when they do. My poor lady, she . . . she can’t bear to have any men about after her nightmares.”

 

_I really couldn’t bear for you to touch me._

 

Suddenly, sickeningly, he _sees_.

 

\---

 

_Do take care, brother – with yourself and with your wife. Be kind. She will need it._

 

He doesn’t know what to do with the detestable knowledge he now has to live with, the questions (so _many_ questions), or the self-blame and self-loathing that accompanies them.

 

“Don’t you dare pity me,” Kenna orders angrily one day. Some of her old fire has bubbled up and it is a relief, even though it’s directed at him.

 

“I don’t.”

 

“I see the way you look at me, like I’m a hurt animal or something ridiculous like that.”

 

“Why would I pity you?”

 

“I don’t know how, but I know you must know.”

 

“Know what?”

 

“About what . . . what happened to me, in France.” She won’t say it. Headstrong, sharp-tongued Kenna, who once did not hesitate to harangue his father when the Italians hurt her, can’t bring herself to talk of what she has lived through.

 

“Kenna –”

 

“I survived and that’s all that matters.”

 

“That is the most important thing,” he agrees. “And yet . . . what you must have endured . . . I’ve guessed,” he finally admits. “I could be wrong, but . . . I don’t think I am.”

 

“What did you guess?” There is something vicious in her eyes and her voice as she presses him. “Tell me, what well-deserved punishment do you think was inflicted on your faithless –”

 

“Stop! Just – just stop.”

 

“I begged them to stop.” And suddenly she sounds a million miles away, in a place where he could never reach her, and his heart breaks all over again.

 

\---

 

One morning, following yet another sleepless night after learning the fate to which he abandoned his wife, he spies her maid at the castle gates. He often sees her in the early morning.

 

A loyal girl, she is as troubled by his wife’s troubles as he is. As he comes closer, he realizes the maid holds a bundle against her chest. “Just left here, my lord,” she says sadly. “All alone, poor thing.” She rocks the bundle he now recognizes as a baby and gives him a look he doesn’t quite understand.

 

Until he does.

 

He isn’t enough – he’s not the man for Kenna anymore and perhaps he never was. And he can’t give her much – the estates and the gold Mary lavished on them are all he has and they mean very little now. He sees how they can’t fill the empty space from which he tore his wife’s heart.

 

When it comes to their marriage, he has made his bed and he must lie in it, alone.

 

But this – this he can give her.

 

\---

 

“The strangest thing happened this morning,” he begins, picking nervously at the breakfast that’s been laid out after he returns to their rooms.

 

“Hmm,” Kenna murmurs distractedly as she peruses a letter.

 

“I came across a child.”

 

She looks up at him over the paper she holds in her free hand. “In your beloved woods?”

 

Although they’re not the forests of France, the Scottish woods have a beauty all their own and he finds some comfort in them. They soothe his spirits.

 

“A magical woodland sprite?” Her words are a touch too light to be called waspish, but they’re certainly not sweet.

 

“At the castle gates. A foundling.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“A little girl.”

 

“And what did you do with her?” It’s the first sign of real interest she’s shown in the topic.

 

“I arranged for a wet nurse to see to her until I figure out what to do.”

 

“What do you think you will do?”

 

“I –” He wants to go about this properly. _I understand that there are some things one simply can’t move past._ No. She doesn’t want his pity, so she can’t see this that way. “I thought  . . . Perhaps . . . we might take her in.”

 

Kenna methodically scrapes marmalade over her bread before saying anything. “If that’s your wish, I won’t oppose it.”

 

“But you won’t like it?” He can’t have that. This isn’t for him; this is entirely for her.

 

“I wouldn’t be displeased.” The corner of Kenna's mouth lifts ever so slightly, for so brief a moment he thinks he’s imagined it, before she takes a bite. She says nothing further.

 

Still, he hopes.


End file.
